


Delphine

by JellicleQueenofPiura



Series: The Affect [1]
Category: Original Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:02:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27096238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JellicleQueenofPiura/pseuds/JellicleQueenofPiura
Summary: Short story influenced by Greek mythology, Stephen King's novel 'Salem's Lot, and Moana.Special emphasis on the word "influenced". This is not in any way a fanfiction, I really only posted it here because it's the first story I've actually finished and I felt like sharing.This has not yet been edited. Advice would be appreciated.
Series: The Affect [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1977706





	Delphine

The silent driver did not look at her. She had been staring since they’d left. She could not see a face, it was hidden by a black cloth – a scarf, maybe? – save for the eyes. Bright yellow, like cats' eyes. The driver was dressed all in black, which made the inhuman eyes even more obvious. She couldn't see even the color of the skin on that part of the face, as dark as it was inside the car; the driver never turned on the headlights. Every possible inch was covered and the driver did not offer any information in place of a view.

At first she’d thought she was being rescued. The driver had…appeared? She couldn’t definitively say whether they’d jumped or walked into the alley. They’d ushered her roughly into the car, pushed her head down, and some time later got in and drove off. After a few minutes, her neck had started to cramp and she’d lifted her head. The driver hadn’t stopped her or gotten angry. In fact, other than the initial encounter, her presence hadn’t been acknowledged in any way.

That was what had begun to worry her. The driver hadn’t yet said a word – or made any sound at all, for that matter – and had given no indication of having any idea who she was or that it even mattered. She hadn’t heard anything – anything – save for her own breathing since she got in the car.

The driver did not speed up or slow down as they drove through the city. The streets were deserted, the lamps were not on, and the signals were all their slow, sterile green. The strangeness of it was not lost on her.

Eventually they left the city and there wasn’t even the streetlights to see by. It was absurdly dark. The blackness was as complete and empty as a dream.

The thought occurred to her that they should still be in the city. She felt that they’d only been driving for an hour at most, and she knew that even driving in a straight line as they were it would take at least a day to escape the boundaries. Yet here they were, driving through the night with no destination or road that she could see.

The driver said nothing.

She turned to the driver and said, “My name’s Del.”

The driver nodded, but did not look at her, and did not speak.

“It’s short for Delphine.”

Another nod. She looked at the driver expectantly.

“And you are?”

Silent.

“What’s your name?”

Nothing.

“Do you have one?”

A nod. She huffed.

“And can you speak?”

The driver shook their head.

“Can you tell me your name at all?”

Nothing.

Then, the driver moved. Slowly, weakly, a hand released the wheel and reached toward her. It did not move otherwise. Somehow, she knew this meant for her to remove the glove. When she did, she saw a pale, graceful hand with long fingernails. The shadows seemed to fall strangely, as though pieces were missing.

As soon as the glove was off, long, nimble fingers seemed to dance a kind of jig. At some point, she realized the hand was repeating the same steps, and after a bit longer realized it was signing a name: K-H-A-R-O-N.

“Is that your real name?”

The driver didn't answer. The hand returned to the wheel and did not move again. She gripped the glove tightly and pursed her lips. She tried something else.

“How old are you?”

The driver did not answer.

“Why did you help me?”

No response. The driver gave no hint of either agitation or amusement, only kept driving in a straight line, both hands – one gloveless – on the wheel. She growled in frustration.

“Stop the car. I’m getting out.”

The driver did not answer. And the car did not slow down.

“I said stop.” The car kept going.

“Now!” The car did not speed up or slow down.

“Please?” The car did not slow down.

“You stop this car right now or I’ll jump out!”

Now the driver turned to her. Her words failed and the driver did not replace them. They just fixed those eyes on her. Scorching cold, coal-yellow, inhuman eyes. Eyes that held a chilling light as they gripped her. Sickeningly deep, knowing eyes.

Unthinking, she opened the door. She lurched back, and would have fallen out if the driver didn’t have a hold of her in a grip that left no room for argument. The driver was trying to pull her back in, and she screamed at him to do so.

There was nothing outside the car. There was no road, no sky, no earth, no light or life. There was a blisteringly strong, screaming gale. It was not hot or cold. It was dead and dark and drenching. She could not see an end. She could hear voices. They wailed and shrieked in tongues she didn’t know. They were getting closer.  
She looked back and saw only the eyes. She turned away again, and saw eyes in the wind. These eyes were white, and they moved. They were getting closer, rushing toward her. She tried to scream, but the wind took her breath.

The driver finally managed to pull her back into the car and she slammed the door shut. She gasped for breath, chest heaving. Then the driver struck her; fist met face with a crack. She cried out, recoiling, and stared in shock. The driver did not look at her and did not move again.

\---

She hadn’t realized she was sleeping until the driver shook her awake. The first thing she saw was a painfully bright light and she closed her eyes against it. When she opened them again, she turned to the driver, who was getting out of the car. She edged away as the driver’s form came around the car and towards her.

The driver opened the door and offered a gloved hand. Hesitantly, she took it and stepped out of the car. She was at a house. Her house. All the lights were on, and she could see her parents' silhouettes waiting at the door.

"How did you know where I lived?" She whirled to face the driver, but their back to was to her. The driver did not turn. She repeated her question, louder this time. 

No reaction.

The driver got in the car, and the car disappeared. She blinked. She turned, and found her parents looking at her worriedly.

They led her inside, asking questions all the while. She simply went to bed. She thought the whole event must have been a dream, a nightmare she'd yet to wake from. Cars were not silent, they didn't vanish, and people did not have eyes like that.

It became much harder to believe that in the morning, when she found the driver's glove still in her hand.


End file.
